Be My Angel, Be My Demon
by 4getfulimaginator
Summary: Perfect Man!AU. They were best friends forever, and when they grew up, they became lovers. But he walked away without looking back, and she never forgave him for breaking her heart. She wants to resist him. She really does. But he answers her list a hundred times over - because, flawed or not, he has always been the perfect man for her. Captain Swan modern AU.
1. Part I

**A/N: This story was inspired by two things: 2 Tumblr prompts from **_kendracs_**, and the song "You Give Love a Bad Name" by Bon Jovi. Part I is comprised of on-going Tumblr fic.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Swishing her hips to "Dance Again" as Jennifer Lopez's voice blew enticingly from the old radio's speakers, Emma rustled dozens of items she still liked, she now hated, and...ones she didn't even recall getting in the first place. Some were surprises, like missing term papers from school that she'd forgotten she'd written (and quite intelligently, at that). Others were embarrassing, like the pinkest sunglasses ever made, wide-rimmed and heart shaped. Then there was the shocking... A striking example being the weirdest sort of sex toy she had ever seen, batteries missing and the..._tip..._cracked.

She must have been drunk when she bought that.

Seriously, she could swear some of this junk had been dropped into those boxes on purpose. By someone else. Someone she would be ashamed to know. Someone she'd kick out the door and tell to get lost.

Just as she was about to victoriously empty the seventh box right into the overfilled garbage container without a second glance, her phone chirped annoyingly at her. _Damn text messages_, she growled to herself as she dumped the heavy box on the carpet and slid toward the kitchenette, her bare feet streaking across the waxed floor.

"Sorry I got stuck at work apologies beautiful but will see you tonight at 8?" she read aloud, her disappointed frown turning into a smile at the heart emoticon at the end of the text. Quickly, she typed back her reply, settling back down on the floor after a moment's contemplation on her boyfriend's sappiness.

He made a point to send her flowers twice a week via courier, earning her notoriety at work. He would take her out to dinner every other night, insisting he'd pay (she always offered, but hey, she wasn't about to complain when he was doing the asking and the offering). He was thoughtful and kind and funny, and he had the sweetest smile. The cutest quirks. Generous. Handsome. Oh, definitely sexy...

Pausing on that last thought, Emma wondered why Neal had never...proceeded further with her than just greeting and goodbye kisses. At first, she had concluded that he was being the gentleman, that the light touches here and there were all he could do out of respect for her.

He was great with words. But she was an action kind of girl, and if he wasn't prepared to show her how he felt, did he really feel anything at all for her?

Scoffing at herself and rolling her eyes at her own silliness, Emma rifled through old coupon books, an ancient telephone book, cellphone manuals, and grocery lists, finally reaching documents that were either typed or had her handwriting on them.

One particular paper was sticking out at an angle from another nearby box, so that every time she bent over, it either tickled her underarm or threatened to cut her skin despite her batting at it. On her fifth time dodging its advances, she almost lifted herself up to just move the damn box away ― and then she looked at it. Really, really looked at it.

The edges of the paper were yellow and crinkled. The lines looked faded. All in all, it was wreck. Probably a piece of scratch paper she had written somebody's info on when she was in need.

Her curiosity won. Pushing her current focus aside, she yanked the paper out of its hiding place.

Okay, seeing the words "My Perfect Man" scribbled in bold type on top wasn't promising. Emma resisted a groan. This was probably something she had done on a dare in high school. Her adult self couldn't have that stupid, right?

_Number one: he has to be good-looking. _ She snorted. That superficial attitude was long gone, lady.

_Number five. Loyal._ Yeah, well...that's a dream come untrue.

_Number eight: he has to like kids._ She really wrote this?

Number seventeen was a blast: _he hates wearing pajamas_.

The list started out pretty childishly with disorganized, immature preferences. However, at around number twenty-six, the requests and desires started to expand, from everything to daily habits and career choices to how he should walk and how he should treat her.

Numbers forty-two through forty-nine almost made her cry. _Almost_. She blushed hotly when reading number seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, and seventy-eight.

After reaching number one hundred ― _most of all, he should love only me, always and forever_ ― Emma threw down the paper, growing more and more frustrated with herself.

With her past self, obviously, because she could never have written something stupid like this now.

Her heart disagreed with her.

"Oh come on!" she yelled at the ceiling. "Let's be realistic here: no man would ever have _all_ of those qualities. Some ― maybe. Besides, fifty percent of them are pure bullshit! Like...'he likes taking care of me.' 'He likes going to toy shops.' 'He likes the music I do.' 'He can dance like a prince.' 'He loves seeing me in lingerie.' How could _I_ have come up with half of this _crap_?!" Huffing, she tossed the list into the trash, silencing the teenage version of her conscience that had been awakened in her head.

Even as Madonna's "Dress You Up" came on and she got closer to her end goal, clinging to the excitement behind her up-coming engagement with Neal, the thrill of finally moving out from her dingy apartment and starting a new life with him... None of it felt the same.

There were times when she truly believed that Neal was the "perfect man" for her, that he was everything she needed and wanted. When he had taken her to see the musical "Wicked," she had nearly died from happiness, having fervent appreciation for the story of a girl who had never been wanted by anyone ― and who didn't believe she was worthy of being loved.

The lyrics of "I'm Not That Girl" were taunting her now, whispering of things that had been and had ended. Of things that could never, ever be.

_He_ could have been that boy ― wondrous and charming, with magnificent blue eyes and a daring smile that broke through her walls of stone. Not Neal.

But life was reminding her, again and again...

That she would never be that girl.

_His_ girl.

Because he was the one who had decided she wasn't perfect enough for him.

* * *

_It was just a little toy shop down the street._

_When she had asked about it the first time, the other kids had laughed at her and asked if she was still wearing diapers. True to form, Emma had snapped back, but when the argument had died out and she was grounded for a week by their foster mom, her anger had faded into quiet contemplation._

_Of course, she didn't stop thinking about the small wooden store, the coiling oaken columns out front that gave way to a charming display of stuffed animals, antique dolls and dollhouses, and building blocks of every shape and color. The puppets swinging by their strings from the top of the window. The stunning train set hidden in the corner. She had peeped in one afternoon when she was walking home from school ― if you could call that noisy den a home. Or that pathetic congregation of stuck-up pinheads a school._

_Inside, the toy shop looked as lovely as the outside view. Whimsical and inviting and best of all, a step into the world of make-believe. "Why not?", it beckoned._

_A world where she could be anything._

_Not an orphan._

_Not alone._

_Not despised and unwanted._

_Just Emma._

_Well, it wasn't a school day today, and the sign said "Open," not closed. Then why the heck was she so afraid to go in? Why was she hesitating?_

"_Stop it, Emma," she chastised herself, pressing against the heavy door lined with bronze etchings. There was a customary jingle signaling her entrance, and with the brush of wind that swept her at her back, she plodded inside. As if teasing her forward, the door bopped her butt forward when it closed with a mighty swing._

_The room smelled of cedar, cinnamon (her favorite, favorite spice), and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Everywhere she turned, cuddly animals and dolls with beautiful painted faces smiled, welcoming her. And the assortment of toys! God, they had everything ― __puzzles, card games, rackets and ping pong balls, sparkling mobiles hanging down from the ceiling and catching the light as they twirled. Wooden cradles and toddler chairs, all meticulously handcarved (or so their price tags said)._

_Sighing, Emma desperately wished she were a little girl again, able to sit and play with all these glorious objects before her. It would have been paradise for her five-year-old self, reduced to carrying around a raggedy doll she named Raggedy Ann after the cartoon. It had been the only toy she had ever owned, and when it fell into pieces after so much washing and cuddling and crying, she had nothing left._

_After peering around to confirm that no one was around, she allowed herself to touch everything in sight._

_Outlining the polished ridges of the tabletop littered with wooden curlicues, probably from newly done creations, she waltzed through the seemingly empty store, humming "Once Upon a Dream" as she imagined she was Sleeping Beauty, come to be awakened from the dreadful nightmare of her life, saved by her handsome parents with their true love for her. Unfortunately, she had closed her eyes during her dance and in one instant, her arm had clumsily knocked over a tower of green and gray blocks, sending them tumbling to the floor. Hastily, she scrambled down and picked them up, dropping them haphazardly on their former platform._

"_Sorry it's taken me so long to get out front ― Marco asked me to mark down our new stock in the back…" echoed a young-sounding, male voice through the curtain behind the counter, which most likely led to the backroom or stockroom or whatever a store this small could have. Though his words were warning enough for his eventual appearance, Emma was still startled when he burst between the fabric and opened his mouth to ask the usual "Can I help you?"_

_If it helped any, she never got to say "No thanks, I'm fine" either._

_The boy ― man ― well, he was a teenager still, obviously ― was standing still, stiff as a board, gaping at her as if she had sprung wings and become a fairy. His dark hair was tossed this way and that, tousled and stormy, and the light scruff on his jaw and cheeks meant he had to be older than her. But it was his eyes, piercing and clear and fixated, that caught her attention the most. They had settled on her face, never moving elsewhere._

_God, staring made her uncomfortable._

_She shuffled her feet awkwardly, clearing her throat before attempting to speak. "I, um…I saw the display, and I thought…I'd look around?" A slow grin stretched his lips, and the merriment there reached his penetrating gaze. Damn it, he was laughing at her too, like everyone else had always done―_

"_Never mind," she muttered before he could reply, "this was a stupid idea ― so stupid―" She nearly tripped over her own feet in her hurry to reach the door._

_He was faster._

"_Hey ― don't leave." He sidestepped her when she reached blindly for the door handle. "I―"_

"_What?" she growled, quickly losing her patience. "You think this is funny, do you?" She brazenly poked him in the chest with her finger, caring less about the consequences. Every conscious part of her was seething. "Seeing a sixteen year-old browse a toy store is an oddity in this fricking day and age, is it? Well, guess what ― I don't give a shit what you think," she spat, pushing him out of her personal space._

_Surprisingly, he didn't take the bait. Instead of vehemently railing at her or shouting in return, he bit his bottom lip and ran a hand through his hair, finally rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look…" he began, swallowing nervously, "I didn't mean to ― that is to say, I meant no harm, lass. It's just…you're the first customer who's been in here all day, and to be honest, I wasn't expecting someone like you."_

"_Someone like me?" she said defiantly, daring him to explain._

"_Yeah… A beautiful girl playing with ballerina dolls and singing Disney songs, looking like a princess herself…definitely not on my boring work agenda." He smiled shyly, glancing up at her._

_Heat flushed up her neck, and she found it hard to breathe. Getting a closer look at this guy, he was maybe eighteen or nineteen, a cross between a scrungy bookworm and a young rock star. Well, the makings of one. There was this cool demeanor behind the sudden shyness, an underlying confidence conflicting with uncertainty._

_And he was very cute. There was always that._

_Emma felt her blush increase. Somehow, he had struck her speechless ― dammit, where were her words?! "You…find working at a toy store…boring?" she stuttered incredulously, hoping he wouldn't notice her sheepishness._

_If he did, he pretended not to. "No, not really ― but there are really slow days sometimes. Like this one. There's only so much I can do when Marco ― he's the shop owner ― is such a bloody perfectionist." He pretended to scan the area for intruders. "Uh, don't tell him I said that, would you?"_

_The way his eyebrows raised simultaneously and then separately, the quirk of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes ― it aroused something inescapable in her._

_A giggle. Loads of them. She doubled over in laughter, finding the whole situation a comical mess that had collapsed in on itself._

_He was chuckling as well when she had recovered her senses, hiding a few remaining laughs behind her hand. "Ahem…" she managed to get out. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd love working in a place like this. There's something so…" She frantically searched for the right description. "…so…magical…about it."_

"_Magical? Really?" He sounded incredulous._

_She nodded. "Magical. Imagination makes everyone the same… There's a bit of child left in all of us." Her voice trailed off wistfully. "I've…I've never really had a childhood." Hanging her head, she peeked down at her feet, feeling embarrassed at the revelation._

_He lifted her chin up with his fingers, and though she should be creeped out by the intimacy of the inappropriate touch, that wariness never came. Instead, it's all rather calming, and she liked the tenderness behind his caress, as if he's soothing her sorrows away._

_Now this was the true oddity ― a stranger, giving her comfort, when her own foster parents were more invested in their cable TV shows than in caring about kids in their home._

"_What's your name, love?" he called, bringing her down to earth ― or maybe up to heaven with that wondrously rich, deep, accented voice of his. He's just wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but the maroon apron around his waist defied his sleek, laid-back attire, gave it an old-fashioned flair that made him blend into the classy environment of the shop._

_What was even more puzzling was that the boy was still smiling at her, as if he truly wanted to know who she is. Not just her name…but her. What made her who she is, the person behind the name._

"_I'm Emma." She stuck out her hand for him to shake, which he did. However, before she could tug it away, he kissed the top of it. His lips pressing over her skin, even in such an innocent location, made her heart beat furiously. The palm of his hand was calloused and rough from labor, and his grip was strong. Contrary to what he implied, he was certainly no idle worker._

"_Milady," he said with a wink and slight bow,"I'm Killian Jones. Welcome to Marco's Enchanted Toy Store, where all your dreams can come true."_

_Gazing at his wide smirk, the sincerity ringing in his tone, his blazing eyes warm and encouraging…_

_It made Emma believe that every single word he said was utterly, utterly true._

_It made her believe in happy endings._

* * *

"God, this poached salmon is incredible," Emma moaned, taking another mouthful and savoring the fantastic herb dressing. Across from her, Neal smiled, raising his wine glass.

"Here, here," he saluted, imbibing deeply. She narrowed her eyes, watching. For someone who was supposed to be happy and in love with her, he seemed to be pretty miserable. And way too interested in the wine list here.

Quickly finishing her entrée, she smiled politely as the waiter cleared their dishes, leaving the table bare. Neal kept his wine, of course, but he folded his arms over the edge of the tablecloth, a sign that he was ready to talk.

She decided to try an ice-breaker when he was still not ready to spill the beans about whatever was occupying his thoughts. "You look really amazing tonight," she tried, earning his beaming smile.

"Aw, babe ― thank you. You're so wonderful, Emma…" He cleared his throat, setting the glass aside. "Actually, that's why I brought you here tonight."

"Because I'm wonderful?" she teased.

"Yeah…but also…because I wanted to talk to you…about my future." She was taken aback by this, but she was curious as well. "You've met my dad ― you know what kind of expectations he has for me." Neal looked down at his lap, not meeting her eyes. "He wants me to become a Wall Street executive, live the high life, the works. Thing is…I expect a lot from me too."

She nodded enthusiastically. "And I support that, Neal ― one hundred percent. I want you to achieve your dreams and be who you want to be."

He sighed raggedly. "I'm so happy to hear that, Emma ― very, very happy." He flushed red and started scratching the back of his head ― a sign he was nervous. Very nervous, by the looks of it. There was a red rose on the table, two sets of lit candles. _My God ― was he going to―_

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating an epic proposal scene like she'd seen in movies, breathless that such a moment could possibly happen to her. _He was going to ask her to―_

"I think we should break up," he blurted out.

Her heart nearly stopped from shock. "What?"

"Emma…I've been on a path of self-discovery the last few weeks. And during that time…I've met someone."

Burning hurt strode across her chest, tightening it painfully. She felt so betrayed in one instant, she couldn't process it. "You've…_met someone_?" she accused bitterly, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. "Who's the lucky girl with whom you've been cheating on me? Do I get to know that much at least?"

He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Emma―"

"Don't. You. Dare," she hissed. "Tell me when the hell this started."

"When I came back from New York," he revealed. "After that big trip I needed to take for work."

"And you met her then? This new flame of yours?"

"Him," he whispered quietly.

She gasped, sucking in air too quickly to replace what she'd lost. Her windpipe closed up, and she was almost choking. "_Him?_"

Neal had at least the decency to look ashamed of himself. "Yeah… See, the truth is?" He looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening. "Emma…I'm gay."

* * *

Emma sighed and took a long drink from her cocktail, surveying the scene before her. The number of people present here was great enough to give anyone a feeling of agoraphobia.

What was even scarier was that this would have been her. Her and Neal. Hell, this was supposed to have been _their_ wedding reception.

Well, that didn't take, obviously.

Fingering the short straps of her dress, she mulled over the awkwardness of just leaving before the wedding toast or sneaking away now. Shaking her head, she kept her butt firmly set on the bar stool and downed another sip of the fruity creation quickly disappearing from her glass. Oh, right ― _she_ had made it disappear.

God, she so did not want to get drunk, 'cause this was neither the time nor place.

Eyeing the now finished cocktail with disgust, Emma started to slip off her perch ― until she noticed Neal and his _boy toy_ ― well, now his _husband_ ― walking to the small stage at the front of the hall, where the disc jockey was managing the music.

Her ex grabbed the free microphone and garbled, "Hi, you all know me as the man who invited you to be here tonight ― plus, how could you forget the offer of free food and booze?"

Everyone burst into laughter. Everyone...but her. Instead, her lips formed a thin line of disapproval.

"Anyhow, I'd like to thank you again for RSVP'ing and making the happiest day of my life even happier ― enjoy the rest of the night, and all the best to you and yours!"

Good lord, that improvised kiss between him and his hubby was making her nauseous. In an instant, Emma recalled that that mouth of his had been on hers, that he had told her all that garbage about forever and taking chances and seeking happiness. Seeking a partner. And all the while, he was playing the other field.

The conniving bastard made her sick.

She didn't even know how she had managed to get an invitation to Neal's wedding, but it probably had something to do with his father, who sat broodily in the corner with his own fiancé, a nice woman named Belle that Emma had met when Neal had brought her to his family home one Saturday night. Mr. Gold probably wasn't any more pleased than she was with this turn of events...but on the bright side...at least Neal had done the right thing in the end and had saved her from a fruitless marriage, one where he'd be lying to her every single day.

She could be thankful for that at least. _ Thankful...that she was alone and unwanted all over again. This was some goddamned vicious circle._

"And now," Neal shouted out, "I'd really like to go on my honeymoon with the love of my life," another round of applause, cheers, and chuckles from the crowd, "so I'll turn you over into the capable hands of one of my best buddies, who's always stood by me. Ladies and gentlemen...my best man, Killian Jones!"

_Holy shit._

Emma wanted to look away, but her eyes were glued to the unmistakable, handsome figure of the man whom she hadn't seen in years and years and _years _race up the steps to join her ex-boyfriend, embracing him on sight. Still as scruffy and energetic as ever.

Neal had never introduced her to any of his friends ― a sign, Ruby had said, that he was already up to no good ― and naturally, she had to find out now that _he_ was included in that nefarious circle. Furthermore, she had been standing at the back of the church during the ceremony, and she had come late to boot, so seeing in advance that Jones was present in the current assembly had been off the chart of expectations.

_Son of a bitch. He was everything she remembered. Everything she had wanted._

"Hey, don't forget devilishly handsome, mate." Jones' all too familiar accented lilt crooned through the speakers, his comment eliciting some laughs. "Uh, hullo everyone! God, I love a party..."

Oh boy. She rolled her eyes, hopped to her feet ― which hurt like hell in these stupid high-heeled shoes ― and stomped toward the exit. She had dressed up nice, acted nice...all to bow out gracefully from her former relationship and admit to herself that she wasn't missing on anything. Looks like this was a terrible, terrible idea, of the worst kind. Why had she agreed to come to this wreck? _Ah yes ― Victor and his therapy. She was going to kill Ruby for convincing her to do this._

She didn't want to see Neal be so happy, waltzing out into his new life with his new love, taking all of her dreams with him. She definitely didn't want to see the asshole who had shattered her heart the first time march in here and be some charming flirt who won people's awe just by smiling.

She was done with this. Done, done, _done_.

Growling under her breath, she was nearly through the entrance when a resounding crack whipped through the air. One of her feet hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Dammit!" she hissed, glaring at the broken heel of her shoe. Then she glanced up. Every person in the nearby vicinity was staring at her, all because there must have been some microphone or spotlight set on her when she had yelled her dismay. Or maybe she had been that effing loud.

Then _his_ blue gaze met hers, and her heart shriveled up in terror. No. _No._

He had seen her.

"_Emma?_" Killian Jones whispered, the microphone making her name boom and echo against the walls.

Abba's "The Winner Takes It All" began to play in the background, a very appropriate choice for the moment ― and it was all too much for Emma. Seeing her ex walk out of her life for good, seeing the man who had crushed her step back in as if nothing had happened, seeing nothing but endless turmoil and regret as her future. Being completely ignored to the point that she was convinced she was an invisible statue, worthy of nothing but silent scrutiny, mockery, and disappointment. Emotion crashed through her like a toxic rush of alcohol, and she almost couldn't breathe.

Damn it, she couldn't have a breakdown here. Wetness pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she clutched her damaged shoe to her chest. Her black and white striped dress suddenly felt filthy, and she wanted so badly to scrub all of the dirt off ― wash away all the pain, the misery, the ache churning inside.

God, she couldn't even look into his eyes. She felt embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed, and deeply wounded. As usual, she had unintentionally made a spectacle of herself. It was like she was being torn apart within, and she could only think one thing: _run. Run like crazy._

Reacting to her instincts, that was exactly what she did, not heeding his calls as she streaked through the door, barefoot and in tears.

But it was foolish ― as always ― to assume she could outrun him. Killian looked like he had stepped out of a top magazine photo shoot, dazzling in a personalized tuxedo, hair askew on purpose to give an impression of stylish disarray, and his face was, of course, flawless. She felt like a dirty whore on display, the ragamuffin and little match girl who had been caught peeking in on the wealthy. She had tried her best to be presentable, a desperate attempt to show off her aversion to Neal and that she was so over him. But that was a failure. She was a failure.

"Let go of me!" she sobbed, tugging her hand out of his grip in the hopes that he would be merciful and relent. He didn't. _She was supposed to be guarding herself, not exposing herself―_

"God, woman ― I just want to speak to you!" he pleaded, his brogue coming out husky and rough and _vulnerable_.

She steeled herself against feeling sorry for him. "_No!_" Yanking herself away, she lifted her newly freed hand and tried to slap him. When he prevented that as well with those damn sleek reflexes of his, what remained of her composure shattered. "You can have nothing say to me, Killian Jones!"

Blurrily, she noticed that this confrontation was becoming quite the scene, and it wasn't unheeded by the neighboring crowd. In fact, they were the center of attention, a low hum rippling behind their backs as people started to gossip.

"Don't I?" Taking advantage of her distracted state of mind, he pulled her forward, right into his arms. "It's about bloody time you let me explain myself, lass," he rasped, holding her firmly so she couldn't escape. His eyes flickered down to her lips, probably red and swollen from her biting them to restrain her crying. His face leaned forward, tilting slightly. Emma began to tremble. She would never, ever let him kiss her again―

"Killian, darling! There you are!" A brunette head was wading toward them through the mass of bodies gathered. Emma recognized the woman on sight. It was Milah, Neal's birth mother...and Gold's ex-wife. _Ugh...was Killian her "escort" or something?_

By the time she had sidled up to him, threading her arm through his, he had released Emma from his embrace, all awkward and uncertain of himself. "Where did you disappear to, _love_?" she giggled, her tone purposely seductive.

Rubbing her sore upper arms, Emma smiled tightly at the couple. From what Neal had said, Milah was in her forties and much older than Killian. Acting like a lovesick teenager in public ― and a horny one at that, who was furtively groping Killian's ass from the side ― was transforming Emma's bout of nausea into an urge to retch into the nearest toilet.

Finally, Milah realized they had company. "Oh ― Emma Swan, right?" she sniffed. "Neal's one-time female flame who couldn't keep his interest to save her life?"

Killian's expression shifted so quickly between shock and confusion that seeing the change made her dizzy. "Yeah," she replied caustically, recovering a little from her sudden anger. That momentary high didn't last too long. "That's right. And you're his mom, correct? The one who would rather go to clubs for cheap drinks than sit at home on school nights and take care of him? Or the one who cheated on his dad more times than there are days in the year?" she snapped sarcastically.

Milah's face turned bright red, but she controlled her voice when she retorted, "You have heard about me, then."

She shrugged. "Seen the photos, heard the stories. Your sex life is quite famous ― or should I say, _infamous_." Killian was gaping at both of them now, and it looked like he didn't know what to say or how to interrupt their little dispute. Emma herself couldn't understand her sudden rise of hate for this woman, but some of it had to with the memory of being neglected. That was why she had taken such a shine to Neal, because he could sympathize with being abandoned, at least by one parent.

"So is yours ― or should I say, your lack of one," she sneered in return. "But why am I surprised? Neal told me all about you, darling. Nobody ever wants you. Why, you probably came to this alone, didn't you?"

Gritting her teeth, Emma decided on her final words to this cold-hearted _bitch_. So she put on a fake happy face and showed her teeth. "Absolutely. I have no boyfriend, no sex life, no friends. Nothing. And you have everything ― everything but your youth and a man who wants you for more than a one-night stand." She grinned triumphantly at the fury in Milah's eyes. "By the way...a word of advice? Killian here knows nothing about commitment, so he's a perfect addition to your list of fuck buddies. Don't worry ― he'll take you hard and then leave you hanging high and dry. Just the way you like it."

Milah looked ready to claw at her, her fingernails digging into Killian's arms. He, on the other hand, was open-mouthed and staring, a hint of raw anguish in his eyes. Ignoring that, Emma turned on her heels and walked away from them both. His new girlfriend was viciously mad and no doubt harping on about her to him already.

No matter. This time, she had left him behind.

And she couldn't care less.

Entering the sunlight and fresh outside air, she skipped gingerly down the stone steps and hailed a cab, closing yet another chapter of her life.

Maybe it was time to write a new one.

* * *

"_You're legally emancipated?" Emma gawked at him, looking very adorable in her red cardigan and simple white jeans. Killian grinned at the sight._

_Then his thoughts retreated to her question. He chuckled, remembering the moment in the courtroom, when he had been declared an adult. "Aye, I was ― my brother Liam helped me. He's in the army, so even though he's much older than me, he wasn't around often enough to be considered my legal guardian. It was either my drunk of a father," he could hear his tone harden, "or foster care. I chose neither."_

_She sipped her hot chocolate slowly, whipped cream tinging her upper lip in the process. Licking it away before he could comment, she bit her bottom lip shyly and looked away. He raised his own serving of the beverage toward her in a mock toast and downed what was left. "I wish...I could do that." Her half-smile was sad. "Except that I have no job and nowhere to go. Plus, the state always moves me from home to home when nothing works out."_

_For three months now, Killian had been seeing Emma in and outside of the toy shop. Though at first she was closed off and not willing to talk, he soon coaxed her into a friendship, one that made him eager to leap out of bed in the morning and get to work. The sooner he spoke to her...saw her...the better he felt. And God above, he loved making her smile. She never did enough of that._

_He just loved being around her._

_Musing on the wistfulness in her expression, an idea struck his mind. "Well..." he started tentatively, "I could ask Marco...if he'd hire you part-time at the shop. Like me."_

_She raised her head, and her gaze was so hopeful it made his chest hurt. Had no one ever offered her kindness of any sort? "Really? You'd do that?"_

_Imagining being with Emma all the time, watching her come alive around the things she loved... Killian nodded enthusiastically, wanting this scenario to be real. "Aye ― but I must warn you...the pay isn't much. Just enough for food and things―"_

"_I'd get by." Then her expression fell. "I guess I could save up for an old car meanwhile, so I'd have somewhere to sleep..."_

_His pulse pounded and throbbed as he blurted his next suggestion. "Or you could live with me."_

_Her eyes immediately narrowed. "What?"_

_Hands held up placatingly, he explained, "I rent a studio flat. There's not much space, but I have a cot...and there'd definitely be room for one more."_

"_But we barely know each other," she argued, sounding suspicious of his offer. Such a distrusting lass._

_He rolled his eyes. "Love, we'd be roommates ― a perfectly acceptable arrangement in today's society. And I'd be a gentleman." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm no pervert, lass. Just a friend...who'd like to give you a hand...help you find your way."_

"_A friend?" She breathed out the word as if it were an unreachable thing, so distant that seeing it come closer to her was a miracle._

"_Aye." His voice dipped down, low and thrumming. She obviously had no idea about the effect she had on him ― which was just as well, as she would never even consider moving in with him if she knew. "You're my friend. As I am yours, Emma Swan." He tried not to dwell on how being hers, in every sense, would feel. The very instant he had seen her in Marco's, he had fallen head over heels like some dolt in a trashy romance novel. _

_Bloody hell, he would do anything for her._

_Several minutes passed before she spoke again. He barely inhaled, desperately waiting on her answer. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try it. I'll...I'll call my social worker tomorrow." Then she stared at him, searching his eyes. "I don't want to be any trouble, Killian. Are you sure...this is alright?"_

_He swallowed hard, longing to take her hand in his and persuade her that she was most beautiful creature he had ever seen. That she was worth chasing to the end of the world. That at any cost, he wanted her to stay. "'Tis no trouble ― Marco's an agreeable, understanding man...and I, for one, believe it an honor to help you."_

_She blushed. "You're doing it again."_

"_What?"_

"_Talking like that."_

"_Like what?"_

_Her cheeks grew redder. "Like I'm a great lady and you're some sort of knight, wanting to win my favor."_

_He leaned in, feeling a strong urge to kiss those lush pink lips of hers. "What if it's true?" He could feel her breathe onto his parted lips, warming his mouth. "What if you're my princess?"_

_Emma's gaze was so bright, and when a solitary tear trickled down her nose, she turned her face away from him. "No one's ever wanted me to even be their kid, part of your family. Why would you like me at all?"_

_Curbing his fears, Killian gently cupped her face in his hands, pressing his forehead against hers when she closed her eyes. "Because you and I...we understand each other all too well." He was only nineteen ― foolish, awestruck, and captivated by the girl in front of him. But he would be that knight for her, if she would let him. "I've never met anyone like you, Emma Swan. Never mind what all those idiots say ― you're special to me, darling. And I ― I don't want you to go."_

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter is the last. Hope you're enjoying this ficlet - please, please review and tell me what you think of it so far!**


	2. Part II

**A/N: Okay, so there will be one more chapter after this one, because of length issues. And now this fic is up-to-date with what I've posted on Tumblr so far. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

_The first time he saw her unclothed was the day he had come home early from work._

_Thanks to Emma's innovative ideas and her knack for business, the toy shop's profits were flourishing, especially when she'd introduced the weekend playtime event that had kids flocking from the local library into their store. Marco was quite taken with her. She was a natural with children, really ― and Killian was as enchanted as the parents themselves, admiring how she'd quiet down the little tykes and get them to sit still while she told stories and made toys come alive. _

_Maybe that was because she was happy. He liked to think that, after the emancipation issue had been solved and she was in charge of her own destiny, she'd found happiness for herself._

_Then there was their flat. Somehow, they'd managed to turn that many square feet of space into a cozy nook where they laughed, learned, and lived together. They'd have movie nights and book nights and conversations of every kind. He taught her how to cook, they split the cleaning between them, and when they had free time, they'd go for picnics in the countryside. She had contacts now instead of glasses. She had graduated from high school a year early, having challenged her junior class with top marks. She was eating regularly, taking online courses, and attempting to design toys of her own. He was taking some classes at the local college, wanting to get into business school. Eventually, they had upgraded to a two-bedroom apartment, because they could now afford it._

_For Killian, life was heavenly. Because he had Emma._

_Naturally, the other part of his attraction to her had never gone away, though he'd done his utmost to suppress it. That honorable façade kind of ended when he walked in to see her disrobed, hair wet from the shower and her soap, scented with sweet peas and roses, engulfing his senses. _

_And worst of all, she didn't say anything. Dear God, they'd been residing in the same place for nearly two years now, and this had never happened before._

_Instead, she murmured, in the most sultry tone he'd ever heard, "Killian...you're staring."_

_He swallowed hard, familiar heat traveling downward. But he couldn't speak. All he could see was every perfect curve, every inch of perfect skin. All of which belonged to Emma. His Swan. The girl he had loved since the moment they'd met._

_Striding forward, he pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers._

_The very air imploded. Not only she responded to his kiss, letting him explore her mouth as passionately as he could, she was unbuttoning his shirt as rapidly as he was hauling her body against his. It could have been seconds or minutes before they were both bare, panting and pressed into each other's arms._

"_Have you ever done this before, my love?" Killian croaked, clearing his throat. She giggled at that. But it was the way she stroked his hair and nuzzled his neck that dismissed his doubt that this was the heat of the moment, that she didn't really want this. Didn't really want him. _

_Her face was pensive, bravado long gone. "I'm a virgin," she whispered, looking embarrassed. He would rectify that immediately._

"_'Tis nothing to be ashamed of, Emma." He beamed at her. "I'm honored to be your first." Then, unable to resist, he bent his head and kissed the swells of her breasts. "And your only, if I'm lucky," he mumbled over her skin, skimming upwards along her neck._

_In reply, she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him again like there was no tomorrow. Slowly, he guided her to his room, laying her down on the bed. Carefully, he lowered himself onto her, and when she hesitantly curled her legs around his waist, helping him to feel her in the most intimate of ways, he groaned._

"_I've been waiting for you for so long, Emma," he said brokenly, kissing up her chest._

_She tugged at his hair and lifted his head up, her mouth seducing him at every turn. "Then let me see what I've been missing." Grinning, she arched her back, inviting him to take his fill of her._

_But he wanted her to say it. He wanted to know, for certain― "Say you want me, Emma. Say you want this. Tell me, or I'll stop."_

_The back of her fingers caressed his cheek. Green eyes fixed on his, she whispered tenderly, "I love you, Killian ― so how could I not want you? I want this. I want this more than words can say." She led his hands back to her breasts. He sighed. "You brought me home. You make me happy."_

_Softly, he pressed his lips to hers. "I...I've always loved you, Emma. And I always will. There will never be any home for me without you in it."_

* * *

_They didn't go out that night. Or the following morning. When Killian reminded Emma that they were due for work, she had slipped out of the covers, refused to put on any clothes, and told him to call Marco and tell him they were taking the day off._

_Seeing that gorgeous smile...how could he refuse her? _

_Also, the fact that he was hard and wanting by the time they got back to his bed, her hands all over his body like his were all over hers, was a helpful second reason to stay home._

_Fortunately, no one called to complain about all the moans, grunts, and screams that came from his bedroom that night. And the following day. And the night after that._

_From then on, they added a new item to their agenda of things-to-do: the art of love-making._

_Needless to say, with all of the daily practice they got, they became quite proficient._

_They never again told anyone their evenings were free. _

_And to be sure, their neighbors had a very hard time looking them in the eye from then on._

* * *

Graphic design had never really been her thing. But aside from the bounty-hunting she had done in her mid-twenties, this had been her goal. Her hard work landed her in one of the ten top design firms in the country. And now she was experienced enough to work mainly from home, a growing entrepreneur with her own office branch and a sweet five-figure salary in addition.

That part of life was..._okay_.

Of course, now that she was single again, there was no need to move any of her boxes out. No need to move out at all. Still, twenty had diminished to five, amazingly enough. All of the menial stuff ― cooking supplies, furniture, toiletries ― was still in place, but as for personal things... Emma had never been a store-it kind of girl. Plus, accumulating possessions meant accumulating an attachment to those possessions. She wanted neither.

Even her work office was very austere.

"God, your cave is gloomy. You really need to get at least some paintings on the wall. Or some family photographs. Ever thought of having a pet?" Ruby Lucas leaned against the open doorway, a smirk on her face as she paraded into Emma's solitude.

Emma peered at her from under her glasses. "I'm too busy to take care of animals. I don't do photos. Paintings are abstract bullshit at best. Besides, shouldn't you be busy mooning over Victor?"

Ruby waved her hands in defeat, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Okay, okay ― never mind." She slapped a stack of manila folders down on the walnut desk. "Back to business, then. New clients on top, old clients on bottom."

"Thank you," she replied briskly, flipping through the first few before returning back to the project she was currently working on.

Someone cleared her throat expectantly. Emma looked up. Ruby was still standing there, one brow raised.

"Yes?"

"Um..." Ruby fiddled with the red tips of her chestnut brown hair. "There's one more client. A new one."

"You gave me all the info already?" she affirmed, pointing at the stack of folders. Ruby shook her head.

"This guy's...special. A top executive of a leading design company. A six-digit figure player, alright. Head of his field. Insisted on―"

Emma interrupted, "Ruby, look...he may be God's next gift to mankind, but no matter what he's offering, he has to wait in line the same as any other client we get. Just...make a file for him, okay? I'll skim through his preferences tonight."

Ruby bit her bottom lip.

She groaned. "He has conditions, doesn't he?" Laying her head on her arms, Emma covered her face in exasperation. "What is it he wants, Ruby?" Her voice was muffled.

"He only gave his company's profile ― had them fax their criteria over. Said he wants to introduce himself in person and have a face-to-face consultation."

"You told him we charge extra for that, didn't you?"

"Yup. Didn't concern him in the least. He's willing to pay twice our rate for the soonest possible appointment ― at our earliest convenience, of course."

"Of course," Emma retorted sarcastically. Thinking it all quickly through, she mulled over whether the lucrative bonus job was worth it. She already had more than ten commissions on a waiting list, two of which should be finished tonight, and she was only in the office twice a week these days. Making her team put in special effort to come here and schmooze Mr. I-Have-To-Have-Things-Done- My-Way was going to be a pain in the ass, no doubt.

Emma Swan just didn't do diplomatic intervention when it came to work. She liked to be straightforward and pragmatic, and most of her business associates appreciated that approach.

Obviously, this guy didn't.

But business was business. If he was wearing the big shoes in her area of expertise, the consequences of shoving his offer back in his face could be dire. She shuddered. She had worked way too hard to build her firm up, only to lose it now because of imprudence.

"Okay ― have him come in on Tuesday. August should be here then." Sighing, Emma peered back down at her half-finished design, wondering if a pint of ice cream would make her artist's block go away sooner.

When she glanced up again, Ruby was _still_ standing there. _Goddamn it. _ Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma grimaced and asked, "There's something else, isn't there?"

She shrugged innocently. "Just one little, tiny last request."

"What's that?" Annoyance leaked into her tone.

"He doesn't want to meet with anyone else but you."

* * *

_Emma knew what kind of women men like Killian Jones would go for. Heck, he had the tongue of a poet, the body of a god, and the manners of Mr. Darcy in "Pride and Prejudice." With deep blue eyes and a striking visage, he was everything a sane woman would want. Only a model-like beauty could balance him and not be left to bask in the awe he inspired._

_Which was why she still couldn't believe he was hers. Totally, explicitly hers._

_On the days they worked together in Marco's shop, she would completely lose her senses. When she turned on some quiet Disney background music or classy lullabies, Killian would sneak behind her and draw her into a waltz, whirling her about the room while she squealed in surprise and delight. He never was able to leave her alone in one corner of the store, always invading her space by scanning over whatever little sketch she was working on, stealing a kiss here and there. Though some days were flooded with customers going in and out of the store, buying everything from children's furniture to wooden chess sets, there were those odd rainy days where she and her boyfriend were all alone in the store, huddled in the backroom as they shared a cup of coffee and chewed over bearclaw pastries and their future plans._

_Then there were moments where Killian was something of a daredevil. For example...that time she accidentally spilled coffee all over her shirt. She had withdrawn into the tiny locker room where they stored their things during work hours, hoping to wash out the stain in the small sink there. Unbeknownst to her, he had followed her, on the point of asking if she needed a hand._

_Seeing her shirtless, with only her simple black bra left on, somehow had had the effect of him being starstruck and speechless. Even though, she had teasingly commented at the time, he had already seen her naked._

_It was a good thing that it was pouring madly outside, thunder and the might of the sky beating down the roof. It was a good thing Killian had put up the "closed" side of the sign when they had simultaneously peeked through the window to assess the state of the weather. It was a good thing that they were together during the storm, safe and dry. _

_Turned out they could feel at home in other places besides their apartment._

_Her back pressed up against the wall, bra bunched up over her breasts, free and bouncing as she angled herself forward to kiss him. Their joint heavy breathing creating a staccato beat that echoed across the soulful yearning of Tracy Chapman as his "Fast Car" rolled over the radio. Killian moaning her name as his mouth sought her skin with the frenzy of one starved, her hands tracing the lines of his bare muscles with fervid need. Her lips on his hair. His grunts and her cries as they fell into each other. _

_When the near end of Madonna's "Crazy for You" reached their ears, their bodies were covered with lustful sweat, her face hidden in the crook of his neck as he held her to him during the after-haze of their passion. He found them a blanket and a corner of the store where they could lie down and listen to the rain patter steadily. God, he had made sex something she couldn't live without ― he was that good. When he made love...he literally made love, binding their souls together._

_So, of course she wasn't satisfied with just having him once._

_He agreed wholeheartedly._

_When it had started hailing, they didn't care. They were louder than the hail._

_Of course, aside from idyllic moments like these, there was work to do, hopes to be realized. Sometimes she found it hard to acknowledge that this was her real life, that it wasn't a lovely dream that could be torn away from her any minute. That Killian really and truly loved her as much as she loved him._

_These past two years hadn't been easy. In fact, they had been as tough as walking through hell. But he had stood by her, comforted her, supported her, encouraged her, and believed in her. He had done all that, expecting nothing in return. Friendship that powerful...well, love that powerful...it was incredible._

_And yet, it was hers. He had shared his heart with her, a girl who had lost her way._

_That was why, when they were alone and he was showing her what it meant to be a lover, she felt that her own heart was beside his. Theirs was a slow romance, one that had almost broken the both of them with impatience, worry, and self-doubt. Nevertheless, they had survived. And so had their feelings._

_Maybe she was a little too old to believe in true love. After all, she was a woman now._

_But the girl she used to be still did._

* * *

She really had made an effort today. Her best earrings, two-piece suit, and perfectly applied make-up. Her hair curled into a simple but elegant do that complimented her style. Putting on her best professional smile, Emma grinned at the mirror before turning to face the door, a frown now pulling at her lips.

God, how she hated things like this. But it came with the job, so here went nothing―

Ruby was right outside, August at her heels. "They're already here, boss."

Emma did a double take. "Wait ― _they_?"

She nodded frantically. "They. He brought his assistant with him, or something."

Snorting, she eyed August for approval. "Think you can man the fort while I deal with these two?"

Paralegal, computer technician, and masterful artist, he had very talented hands and even more talented penmanship. He made business proposals sound like Machiavellian treaties and simple letters sound like sonnets. Right now, however, he was yawning like crazy and rubbing at his eyes. "Sure thing, Emma."

She sighed. It sounded like she was on her own with this. "Ruby," she gestured toward their small conference room, "if you would be so kind..."

Her secretary went in first, and she could hear Ruby introduce herself, announce their office's name, Swan & Co., their objective, and then...

Taking that pause of silence as her cue to enter, Emma knocked twice on the door, smoothed her hair over one last time, and pulled on the doorknob. Ruby gave her a reassuring smile before nodding and taking her leave.

Trying to look bright and enthusiastic, Emma chirped, "Good morning, gentlemen ― I'm Emma Swan. First of all, thank you for choosing my firm..."

As she droned on with the usual platitudes and formalities, she noticed a short, whiskered man in the corner, business suit askew and his eyes wide open. The chair at the end, the one that swiveled and was plush leather (only the finest for her clients) ― its back was facing her, so she couldn't see her guest at all.

She groaned inwardly. _What she did for money..._ "Now, whom do I have the honor of working with?" she said with a sweet smile, hoping her client really wasn't an inflated ass and would just _turn the hell around_.

The gears of the chair swished suddenly, and she felt that with that brief gush of wind, the air was taken out of her lungs entirely.

God, _no_. No, she must be dreaming, having some horrible nightmare. One that was going to end. _Right now_.

"Killian Jones," he answered smoothly, his voice not faltering for one instant. "Executive CEO of The Avid Gilder." His hands rested on the table, but she could see that every muscle beneath his tailored suit was tense, his perfect tie straining his neck.

_Because not telling any of her co-workers about her past love life was of course coming back to bite her. Hard._

His expression was searching and eager. Hers was probably horrified and shocked and full of dread.

Clucking his tongue appreciatively as he slowly perused her figure, Killian sat up straight and interwove his fingers together as his elbows hit the wooden surface, propping his arms up. His wide, confident smirk made her blood boil furiously. "Miss Emma Swan... It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he drawled glibly. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this opportunity." His gaze glittered, and she took this as a sign to make things more discreet.

Indicating his companion, she smiled weakly and asked, "And this is...?"

"Smee. William Smee, Mr. Jones' assistant, at your service, ma'am." He looked like he was about to sweep off a nonexistent cap and bow to her, barely restraining himself after a pointed look from his employer.

Emma badly wanted to cover her face with her hands and just wish this situation away. Instead, she had to be the adult and go through with it. Swallowing hard, she tried a welcoming stance. "Well...Mr. Smee...I think I'll be fine discussing the terms and rubrics with Mr. Jones here. Why don't you join Ruby outside for a cup of coffee? She even has donuts, if you're that kind of man."

Shoulders relaxing gratefully, he peeked at Killian for confirmation. He gave it with a slight nod. Bumbling out the door, he gracefully closed it behind him, leaving them alone. Together. God, the last time they'd been alone together, he had been underneath her as she had―

"I see you haven't changed a bit, lass."

She bit her bottom lip, shrugging off the last bit of pretense. "I could say the same. Deception still looks good on you."

He scowled at that. Shrugging, she stepped toward the windows that overviewed the great bridge joining the peninsula to the mainland, spanning a wide, turbulent river. The panorama never failed to bring her a sense of power and rightness, like she had found her place in the order of things. Maybe.

She hadn't lived with him for that long without being able to sense when he was near her. The moment his presence right behind her back became overwhelming, she snapped. "I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you again," she spat out coldly, giving him an icy glare.

His eyes were cloudy. "But _I_ needed to see _you_, Swan." Tentatively, he reached out and fingered a wayward curl that had escaped her hair pins.

She slapped his hand away, half-smirking when he winced from the burn of that contact. "Really? Your girlfriend isn't enough for you?"

The corners of his lips twitched, but his countenance remained dark. "What girlfriend?"

She shook her head, unamused. Who the hell did he think he was, that he could just march in here and play more games with her? "Judging by how cozy she was with you the last time we met, I'd say Milah is really jealous right now on account of the effort you made to find me again."

"Milah..." He rolled his eyes, pulling on his tie slightly as he tapped his fingers on the table. "If you must know, Neal invited me once to one of his family dinners ― his engagement party, actually. Said that me being there would settle his nerves a bit. I met his mother there. She's a terrible flirt, but I saw no harm in being her date for the wedding. She and I...it was a one-time thing. Whatever her history, Milah's a lonely woman, and she deserved―"

"I don't want to hear it," Emma gritted out, feeling sickened by the thought of Killian sharing his bed with her.

Now he grinned. "Jealous, love?"

"Ugh, _no_," she denied. If he had come here to gloat... She crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, I don't know what possessed you to set this whole meeting up, but this is where personal conversation ends. Tell me right now what level of _professional_ interest you have in all this, or this appointment is over."

Pouting like a little boy, he rifled through his briefcase, which was resting near his seat, and pulled out a folder. "Despite what you believe, my work proposal is genuine. The Gilder needs a new logo to go with its upcoming upgrades, and from what I've learned, you're just the artist to do it, Emma." He slid the portfolio to her.

Scanning its contents, she calculated the amount of creativity and raw technical labor that would be involved in this. "It's _Ms. Swan_, Mr. Jones."

At her curt tone, he hung his head, his arrogant façade dropping as well. "By the way...I think you should know...that I've been searching for you for a long time."

She snorted in disbelief. "Sure you have. And you looked hard ― so very hard, that we knew the same person and our paths never crossed all this time."

"Believe what you will, but Neal never spoke of you. His dating life was his own, and he always kept mum about it to all of us. The guys, that is," he clarified, rubbing the back of his head anxiously.

One last shuddering breath. Her eyes closed, and she willed the pain away. Willed all the memories away, until there was only the here and now. Where she was by herself and trying so determinedly to leave her past behind her. "Well...what does it matter?" She could hear how defeated she sounded. "It's over. He's married. And I'm back to where I was before I met him: bitter ― and _alone_."

When Killian lifted her chin with his fingers, so softly and gently as he had when they first met, she bit back tears. God, she _hated_ him ― but...but... _How she had loved him then. Why was there no forgetting him?_

His voice was husky and deep when he uttered, "No. You're still you. You're thoroughly, purely Emma. Beautiful. Talented. A brilliant, amazing, strong woman. A woman who―"

_Who used to be mine. _ She knew that was what he would have said, had she not walked away from him, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Maybe you should put that tongue to use where it is needed, instead of seducing innocent girls and then abandoning them at the altar."

His eyes filled with self-loathing. "I didn't want to leave you, Emma―"

"But you did!" she shouted angrily, clenching her hands into fists. "You said you _loved_ me ― you promised to _marry_ me ― and then you took off without another word, deserting me! You _betrayed_ me, Killian. You _lied_ to me. You're like everyone else I've met who's hurt me." She was having a difficult time not punching him in the face. "How can you not understand," she finally continued, feeling so broken inside, "that I want _nothing_ to do with you?"

The room was as silent as the grave. His hands were embedded in the pockets of his pants, and he was staring at the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Stifling a sob, she clasped her hands together and attempted to recover herself. To be cool and collected, so she would still have a job by the end of this. After all, Killian Jones meant nothing to her. _ He meant nothing._

"Let me make this absolutely crystal clear." She raised her head, gazing at him firmly. "You mean _nothing_ to me. Whatever we had together is _dead_." Her tone was acidic, cutting, and as cruel as she could possibly make it. _Good_. "I accept," she said shakily, "your business proposal. My firm ― _I_ ― will have the assignment completed within two weeks. August will discuss the legalities with you in a moment."

Then she carefully walked toward him, until there were only mere inches between them. "But during that time, you will _not_ speak to me. You will _not_ meet with me. You will _not_ see me. We are _done_ ― I'm _done_ with you. If your company has questions and concerns that need personal attention, send Mr. Smee. Do not seek me out."

Killian was absolutely still. He had offered no excuses, no explanations. He had not argued with her or tried to convince her of his innocence. No, he had stopped short at her first accusation, and like a coward, had refused to put up a fight. She was disappointed in him. She thought he was more than that. Or perhaps...perhaps she really had been duped by him from the beginning. Perhaps she was that much of a fool.

Scoffing as she flung open the door, she looked back one last time at the former love of her life, the man who had destroyed her dreams. He had a haunted agony about him, an aura of sadness that was overshadowing her as surely as the clouds outside did with their impending storm. "Good-bye, Killian Jones," she said as commandingly as she could. "Don't ever dare to come back here again."

And without another word, she stepped away, hiding in the restroom until she felt certain he was long gone, taking his charming lies with him.

* * *

She took the rest of the day off. She ran to her apartment. She hid in her bedroom, crying as the gathering rain showered down.

Worst of all, she could feel it. She could feel grief and torment rear their ugly heads and tumble down onto her. She was helpless to resist their pull. All she could hear was the last thing he had said to her before she exited the conference room, demanding he leave.

_As you wish._

So she mourned ― for herself...and for him.

Because that was what broken hearts were doomed to do.

* * *

Ruby and her blind dates.

Ruby and her double dates.

Ruby and her crazy, wild, ridiculous ideas.

Emma had only surrendered after the girl had pleaded almost on her knees to give her latest find a chance. After all, Emma would be going along with her and Victor, and it's not as if she would be alone for the ordeal.

_Say that to the couple who was obviously and oh so madly in love._

"So, Emma...did your ex-fiancé ever return to haunt you?" Victor Whale took a sip of his wine, hacking hoarsely when Ruby sharply nudged him with her elbow. Emma coughed on hearing the question, but she wasn't that surprised. Her secretary wasn't known for keeping secrets well, having a tendency to spill the beans more often than not.

"Well..." she sputtered awkwardly, glaring at her friend.

"I mean, didn't Neal at least apologize for stringing you along when he was aware of his, uh, orientation?" the doctor inquired, looking serious and almost..._concerned_.

Emma was taken aback, but she tried not to show it. _Poker face_. "Um...yes, actually. But it was kind of hard to listen to him say he was sorry...when I was too busy throwing every gift he ever gave me at his face."

Victor laughed at the picture she had painted, his white teeth and dark blonde hair catching the low lights of dim club. For an ER doc, he took very good care of his appearance. When Ruby had first introduced him to her, Emma had been more than skeptical of his profession, wondering how someone who looked like he could be a fashion model was somehow a good doctor. But then she had been forced to visit his ER when Ruby had had an allergic reaction to a bee sting. Seeing him in action, calm and compassionate among patients who were crying and screaming from pain, had made her opinion of him change.

That didn't happen too often, if ever. But now she didn't doubt that Ruby was in capable hands ― and company.

Speaking of which, that woman was currently frowning at her, her lips twisted into a firm pout. Emma could already hear her scolding: _Shame on you, thinking me so loose! _In repentance, she half-smiled gratefully and nodded at her. After a minute, Ruby's ire had died down into a mere trickle, and understanding was in her eyes.

_Thank God, 'cause when that she-wolf got upset, hell's unleashed._

Attempting to change the subject back to anything not related to her or her love life, Emma smoothly asked, "What about you, Victor? Will we be hearing wedding bells soon in the near future?"

He actually blushed. "Uh...that is to say...um..." Pulling at his necktie, he finally said, "Marriage is something my family ― and I ― take very seriously. When I do tie the knot...I want it to be with someone I'd like to spend forever with. Someone who'd like to be stuck with me for the rest of her life." When he squeezed Ruby's hand affectionately, she immediately leaned in for a kiss. A long one.

Emma just rested her face in her hands and grinned. She could definitely see these two raising bouncing babies in a Victorian-style mansion. After all, Ruby was one hell of an interior designer.

After Victor had pulled away from his girlfriend, he peered around and said, "Hey ― didn't you say Graham was coming over?"

Ruby hid her smile against his neck. "Yes, but you know Graham ― he's always at least five minutes late for everything."

Whale snorted. "That explains why law enforcement always comes an hour afterwards to every crime scene."

Rolling her eyes at the thought of meeting Ruby's tardy cousin, Emma glanced lengthily around the crowded room, the dark bar against the back wall fraught with lonely souls hoping to meet a perfect stranger ― all while downing their alcoholic beverage of choice. The dance floor was currently empty, but that was probably because the DJ on stage was busy inviting special requests and karaoke spotlights. God, she hadn't sung karaoke since―

The wine suddenly burned her throat, and her eyes stung. No, she wouldn't think of _him_. Not tonight. Not again. It was already more than two weeks since his company's project had been submitted, so she would never have to hear from them...or Killian. It had been a done deal, a fixed job. _I'm done with you_, her memory charged.

"Ah, there you are ― it's so damn tight in here a bloke can't even breathe," an accented voice claimed. Then the owner of the voice was by Victor's side, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. Ruby squealed and stood up to hug him.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, nearly jumping up and down. "We've been waiting and waiting―"

Running a hand through curly, sand-colored hair, he bit his bottom lip. Emma had to admit...he was kind of adorable when he did that. "Ruby, work was hectic," he excused, "and then I barely made it back to my flat so I could―"

"Too much information," Victor interrupted with a smirk, waving over to the waiter. "Here, get yourself a drink, something to eat...relax. We don't need to hear your gory tales tonight, do we, sweetheart?"

Ruby gave Victor a mischievous smile before blowing him a kiss. "Of course not." Then she turned to Emma, who sighed. "Graham...I want you to meet my boss _and_ my best friend, Emma Swan. Emma, this is Graham Humbert, first cousin and the sheriff department's most brilliant detective."

Instead of basking in Ruby's praise and pruning in front of them like a vain peacock, the man smiled sheepishly and looked down at his feet, hands deep in his pockets. _Hmm_, Emma thought to herself, _he's a modest sort of guy._

Bravely, she offered him her hand. "Nice to meet you, Graham."

He shook his head as if coming out of a daze, but the heart-stopping smile on his face made up for the fact that he hadn't offered to handshake first. "_Emma_." He took the word between his teeth, humming it. "It's an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance."

His steady stare was unnerving her in all the right ways. Or maybe that was because this was her third glass of wine. "Wow, a deputy who likes to watch oldies ― what a catch."

Victor and Ruby laughed at that, while Graham managed to chuckle. Still, his answering smile reached his eyes, and the result was quite dazzling. _Good Lord, she was not going to get infatuated with the first nice man that crossed her path...well, attractive man...with the same color of eyes like― _Wishing she was stronger when it came to temptation, that she would stop comparing all men to _him_ (especially when _he_ didn't deserve that privilege _at all_), Emma meditated on how many more minutes she was obligated to sit here out of politeness before she could just up and leave. She didn't want to date anyone. She didn't want to take a chance on anyone.

For her, romance was a thing of the past, and it was high time to move on to other things. Like going on a trip around the world, for example...a dream she had kept since―

Shoving her wine away, Emma slouched in her chair as Graham said something witty to Victor while tossing banter back and forth with Ruby. He probably was a nice person, and probably an even better friend, but she really didn't want to do this.

"Emma's a heck of a dancer." Ruby raised a brow in challenge. "She totally could leaving you panting out on the floor, _cousin of mine_."

Her head snapped up at the mention of her name. "Uh, no." She chuckled dryly. "No, those were my college years, when I was hopeful and stupid. I'm over that phase now."

"Getting old?" Graham's smile was as devious as Ruby's.

Emma snorted, determined not to fall for his trick. "Oh yeah, I'm dead tired and as decrepit as the hills." Huffing, she moved to stand up, grabbing her purse. "Well, I'll be going now―"

"To the restroom," Ruby interrupted. When Emma gave her a questioning stare, the girl had put on her best pleading face. _Oh boy._

"I kind of," she cleared her throat, looking down at the tablecloth in embarrassment, "would like to call it a night, actually." If she were wearing soft sneakers or her flats, she'd be toeing the floor with the tip of her right foot, like she always had when she'd get shy and soft-spoken.

Killian had always called that habit of hers adorable. In fact, he had found all of her habits adorable ― how rare was that?

_God, he was everywhere. Every region of her thoughts, every part of her best memories. She clung to them fiercely while pushing them away, and with each passing moment, her heart bled just a little bit more._

If only he hadn't bruised her so with his empty promises. If only he had been truly loyal and stayed with her. He would never know how much she had missed him ― crying for him during strange hours of the night, wanting him beside her and waking up to find him still gone, loving him despite how she wanted to hate him for what he had done.

They said that you never forgot your first love, that you would always remember your first time. He was both for her. That could never change.

Not even if she were fortunate enough to find love again.

"Hello! Earth to Emma?" Ruby was calling to her, her tone exasperated and a little bit sympathetic. Just a little bit.

Biting her bottom lip, she smiled. It hurt to do so. Putting on her best people voice, she said, "Ugh, I spaced out, didn't I? Sorry... I must be more overstressed than usual, work being so hectic―"

Graham was getting up from his seat as well. "I can understand that ― the chief's being giving me overtime all the time, trying to get even..."

Something in his tone registered. "Wait ― why is your boss giving you a hard time?"

A tiny smirk lifted one corner of his lips. "Ruby didn't tell you?"

Emma glared at Ruby. "You didn't tell me...?"

It seemed that the girl was barely holding back a huge grin. "The chief ― Regina Mills? ― she was...his girlfriend. Now, ex-girlfriend."

He shrugged. "She was getting too possessive, too demanding. We couldn't balance our personal relationship with our professional one, so...I had to make a choice. But I think she's happier without me... Rumors have been going around that she's seeing Robin―"

"No!" Ruby gasped. "You mean that daredevil of a hot shot that has gotten every promotion imaginable in the department?"

"Yup ― which means yours truly still has to take the night patrol in an obsolete car." Graham sighed dramatically. "The things I do for the safety of our citizens..."

Emma felt herself finally relax amid their camaraderie, and visions of Killian started to fade. She could be happy. By herself, with others, without him. She _could_.

"So, Graham..." she trailed off. "I was just about...to go get myself a drink. Care to join me?" Her breath stilled while she waited, eagerly and nervously. Maybe she could take a chance on someone. _Maybe. Maybe it was possible._

He cocked his head at her, curls dancing above his eyes. "You're sure?" He was trying to ease her discomfort when he smiled teasingly. "I'm a bad luck charm, Emma ― I never get far without breaking something or colliding into a wall. And when I talk, I stutter. Every single damn time."

It was rather charming that he didn't want to be overly eloquent with his words, that he kept everything solid and credible and awkward and relative. That made it all the better for her to get to know him as a person and not just as Ruby's dashing cousin.

"Well, I'm a regular klutz, so no need to worry about my good luck rubbing off on you. At the very least, you can catch me when I fall."

Ruby pumped her fists in the air, looking superlatively pleased. "_Yes_! You're both flirting with each other!" She turned toward Victor. "This is progress."

_Yeah...there was no denying that._ Graham's cheeks flushed, but he still offered Emma his hand, his gaze twinkling with gentle chiding toward Ruby. And something else. There was a warmth there, one she wanted to explore. All these years had been so cold. Spring needed to come into her life ― there was such a desperate need for change, that she found herself very thirsty for it all of a sudden.

His other hand pushed through the bodies mingling on the dance floor, cutting a path to the bar. Though her red dress was pretty simple and she was wearing classic black heels, Emma didn't feel so ordinary anymore. Because the way Graham was guiding her to their destination, a soft smile on his face when he peeked at her, meant that tonight wouldn't be dull, with her hidden in the background.

Tonight, she would shine.

* * *

"_'Cause we're livin' in a world of fools, breaking us down, when they all should let us be, we belong to you and me,'" Killian sang into her ear as he slow danced with her about the room. The Bee Gees hummed along in the background, and Emma couldn't imagine anything more romantic than her boyfriend murmuring the lyrics of one of her favorite ballads as he rocked her in his arms on her birthday._

_How far she had come, from being loved by no one to being cherished by the most beautiful man in all the world. She didn't need any presents. She didn't need any wishes. And she certainly didn't need any cake._

_She only wanted Killian with her, forever._

_Then, as Celine Dion's "Seduces Me" came next, she fell harder, pressing her lips on his as everything she felt for him came to the surface, nearly overwhelming her. She could never imagine being without him, because he was such a part of her now._

_She loved him utterly and completely. She loved him in all the ways the experts said you shouldn't. She loved him because he helped her be a better person. She loved him when he was just there, by her side, no words spoken or actions taken. And she had a hunch she would still love him even if he didn't love her back._

"_So this is love," she said breathily against his skin, sighing when he gently kissed her temple and held her closer. She was no Cinderella, and there weren't any real princes in this world. But in her fairy tale, he would be hers. "I'll never regret the day I had the guts to go into Marco's shop."_

_He pulled back to smile at her. "And I'll never regret the day I met you, my Swan." The music stopped, and he slipped a hand into his pocket, removing something circular shaped. "Happy nineteenth birthday, lass." _

_The simple packaging meant the object inside was small. She carefully unwrapped it, trembling when a silver swan stared back at her, dangling from a silver chain._

"_Because you will fly so high someday, Emma, when you spread your wings. You deserve to find your piece of heaven, love."_

_She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're heaven enough for me, Killian." Giggling when he trailed a finger down her cheek, she rubbed noses with him, tenderly capturing his lips again when he clasped the pendant beneath her hair. One hand was enmeshed in her golden locks, while the other cradled her head. _

_Slowly, he guided her to their bedroom, where she could curl into him and never leave his side._

_Where there was no limit to their dreams._

* * *

"What questions should we ask each other?" Graham challenged, tossing back his whiskey shot.

Emma pushed her glass of rum away, not in the mood for more alcohol in her system. "Not the usual ones."

"Hmm..." Suddenly, he hiccupped loudly, and the way he jumped up in shock made Emma cover her amused grin with the back of her hand. "Well, how about an..._unusual_ question for a question?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. What's yours?"

Graham leaned forward, gazing at her intently. "Are you still in love with your ex?"

Ignoring how her entire body quivered from that thought, she scoffed, waving her hands about from exasperation. "Does everyone in the world know about me and Neal―"

"I'm not talking about Neal." He was still staring. "I'm talking about the man who really broke your heart. The one that you keep looking for, even in a beat-up place like this. The one that makes you stare at all the couples, wishing you were one of them. The one who taught you how to dance."

Emma masked her growing anxiety with a little suave smirk and tilt of her head. "Very perceptive, Detective. But how can you be sure it wasn't really Neal?"

He grunted, sounding frustrated. "I'm not. But let's put it this way: you remember Neal the way I remember Regina. A bit of sadness, a bit of anger, and a pinch of regret tossed in the mix. But he wasn't the love of your life, and she wasn't mine. Just..."

"Two ships passing in the night," she finished for him, her hands now resting on her lap.

"Yup." He placed enough money on the counter for their drinks, but his fingers continued to toy with a quarter, spinning it absently as he looked off into space. Somehow, Elvis had taken center stage and was crooning for the nightly slow dance, whispering how he "couldn't help fallin' in love...", and the image before them triggered another happy memory of her and Killian during their third anniversary, enamored with each other. It made her eyes water.

Swallowing hard, she tried to pick up the conversation. "So...my turn. The one thing in the world you want to do ― but can't do."

His gaze became clear again. "Ah, a simple question. Well, let's see..." He gave her a lazy smile. "Hunting. I'm a hell of a tracker ― I'm sure I'd be bloody good at it."

One of her brows lifted. "And you can't because..."

He gasped in mock shock. "Oh, for shame ― cruelty to animals, Swan!"

She tittered. She guffawed. And then she laughed, really hard and really long. The best she had done all night. Graham was chuckling along with her at the end. Then she noticed something in his eyes had changed. Now there was a light in his face, calmness akin to serenity. He had relaxed. And so had she. Laughter truly was the best ice-breaker.

* * *

The night dragged on, but what was in reality hours of talking seemed like minutes. But of course the most memorable event of the evening would be the host of the club giving a shout-out to one of its VIP guests.

She nearly spit out the water she had taken a sip of, her date still relating one of his humorous work incidents. "Hide me," she whimpered, quickly getting down from her stool and sneaking behind him so she was obscured from sight. "No, don't turn around! He'll see me!"

Graham angled his head so that through his peripheral vision, he could glance at her. "Who's he?"

Emma sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her hands. "Killian Jones," she finally grumbled. _Goddamn it._

There he was, parading through the crowd, dressed for success and glamor, a blonde woman on his arm. _Whoa, that was fast... _ Just as soon as the moment came, it was over, and he was mingling with the masses, his figure barely visible in the throng. She peeked over at Ruby and Victor's table, but they weren't there. Probably out dancing or they just plain left. _Traitors._

"Um...can we leave?" She snatched at her purse and tugged on Graham's arm. "Like, right now?"

He bit his lip. "Worried about something?" He scanned the room, noticing Killian's reception. "Or someone?" Huffing, she yanked him down to the floor. He yelped. "Alright, alright ― I'm coming!" Then he stopped short. "Wait...it's him, isn't it?" _Oh no, he was putting two and two together, and it was going to be so fricking bad―_ "The love of your life?"

She gritted her teeth together, nearly stomping her foot angrily. "I already told you some of the story ― now is _not_ the time to want details!"

The DJ's announcement drowned out Graham's protests. "Hey everyone ― you know what time of night it is! Let's karaoke!"

Too much adrenaline was coursing through her veins, making her senseless and foolish and daring. Well, that's what she told herself when she bolted toward the backstage, dragging Graham with her. She could still see Killian's new girl whispering in his ear, dragging her fingernails down his arm, his hand possessively on her waist, and...

Rage. That's what this was. Pure rage. And maybe a tiny spark of jealousy.

He just couldn't stay out of her damn life, could he?

"Emma, what are you doing?" Graham yelled over the loud speakers, his jaw dropping on seeing the microphone in her hand.

"Having a little fun," she purred, running her fingers through her hair. When he still looked at her disbelievingly, she went up to him until they were only inches apart. "Help me," she pleaded desperately, her voice cracking. "Let's get off the rebound. I...I need to put my past behind me."

"By embarrassing yourself?" he countered, arms crossed over his chest.

"By freeing myself. Please, I need this. You...you can sing, right?"

He cocked his head at her, and after a minute of mutual stare-down, he seemed to relent, harrumphing as he took the other mic she offered. Eyeing the curtain, he murmured, "This is crazy. But okay. I'll do it. For you."

In the spur of the moment, she kissed his cheek. He blushed. "Thank you, Graham." Smiling, she cleared her throat as the DJ started to interrupt the fast-paced music currently playing. "I hope you like Bon Jovi."

* * *

**A/N: You _will_ find out why Killian left Emma - that revelation's in part 3. Thanks again for reading and following this little story!**

**And please don't forget to leave a review!**


	3. Part III

**A/N: This never really could be just a simple three-shot, could it?**

******Thanks again for reading and loving this story.****  
**

******Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

_Going to college with Killian was what Emma liked to dub "merciless, masochistic torture." In the classes they didn't share, it was different. She actually focused on the teacher's lectures, outlined her assignments, and got some work done in class. In the ones they did share, like calculus (hey, she'd always loved math) and advanced lit., she loved having him around, but...he really made paying attention to the professor an impossibility._

_Like right now. _

_Luckily for Killian, the teacher was the wife of a guy he knew pretty well ― David Nolan, whom he had met at the gym ― and she cut them some slack for their distractions, mostly due to physical contact, more often than not. Depending on the circumstances._

_Emma didn't consider herself a naughty girl. Not at all. But Killian was being a very naughty boy―_

"_Seriously?!" she hissed at him, swatting his hand away from her. "Trying to feel me up in the middle of her lecture about anti-feminism in classic fairy tale romance?!" _

_Once her hand had returned to grasping her pen, his hand again slipped under the table and slid under her skirt, gently caressing between her thighs. When his fingers sneaked underneath the waistband of her underwear, Emma bit back a moan and then glared at him._

_The jerk just continued to grin mischievously at her, teeth flashing as his tongue licked his lips slowly, his forefinger entering very dangerous territory while he palmed her. "Don't tell me you want to listen to this?" he trilled in her ear, his scruff scratching at her cheek. "Wouldn't you rather have me show you how giving a man can be to the woman he loves...?" His teeth lightly bit down on her earlobe. "I can always teach you something new."_

_Holy hell. This was like being in high school all over again. Except that whenever any guys made any lewd advances toward her, she'd tell them to back off or she'd sock their jaws._

_She did break a lot of jaws during senior year._

_Oh, thank God they were sitting in very back of class, a herd of chattering people between them and the whiteboard, or things would get very embarrassing― _

_Killian was pretty determined to prove his point, because in a matter of minutes, he got her off, sweaty and moaning into the crook of his neck, his mouth begging for a kiss and then attempting to devour her tongue. It didn't matter how many times they slept together: he was always wanting more of her, like she wanted him. Heck, they were acting like two very horny teenagers that had just graduated, instead of mature adults._

_Now he was kissing down her neck. "Killian," she whined softly, "we just did it this morning, before school―"_

"_Emma, you know I always want more of you." His voice was husky ― the way it always was when he was aroused ― and he groaned from need. "The things you do to me, lass..." _

_That's it. Her very sexy boyfriend was officially driving her crazy. Pulling away abruptly and sitting up straight, Emma put a big smile on her face before reaching over and squeezing his now bulging crotch. Hard._

_Killian yelped loudly, nearly jumping in his seat. When the rest of the class turned to look at them, his hand was high in the air, waving madly._

"_Yes, Killian?" Mary Margaret asked, peering at him above her thin-rimmed reading glasses. "Would you care to list the ways that fairy tales reflected the sexist views of their authors?"_

_He was gaping like a fish, speechless and stammering wildly, his cheeks flushed red. Emma hid her chuckles behind her hand, coughing to mask them. Ah, the sweet taste of revenge._

_Eventually, he admitted he didn't know the answer. Professor Nolan only smiled knowingly before assigning the class a ten-page long research paper on that topic, recommending a stack of literature to help._

_And as for Emma...well, she was one of the first to escape the classroom. But Killian wasn't far behind, hauling her into the nearest empty study room and locking the door. _

_When he made sure the blinds were down, his gaze predatory and heated, she tossed her messenger bag on the floor and hopped up on the desk. She let him be the one to do the stripping this time ― after all, he always prided himself on being quite the lover._

_The look of his face when he saw her matching set of lacy lingerie, revealing and sensual, was absolutely priceless. Setting his phone on a chair, he made sure it would repeatedly play "Bad Romance," so that the innocent passerby or student next door would hear only Lady Gaga's throaty voice sing the raunchy pop ballad. Not them, or their very vigorous activities._

_Half an hour later, their clothes were strewn across the floor, and the only thing between her bare back and the wooden tabletop was Killian's soft leather jacket. Honestly, were these walls soundproof? Because the way he was pounding into her, the table's legs were rattling as if a strong earthquake had struck. _

_She was still under the influence of mind-numbing pleasure when he found his own release, professing his love for her ― very loudly ― while he came with a moan. _

_Staring at the cheaply constructed ceiling, Emma sighed. If they were ever caught doing this, they'd be expelled for sure... "Couldn't you just have waited until we got home?" she reprimanded, running a hand through her rumpled hair._

_He was grinning widely as he leaned over to kiss her, his own hair left wildly tousled by her fingers. "My lovely Emma," he enunciated, nipping at her jaw, "I have to go to Marco's today and help him balance the last of his finances, check the stockroom, and analyze the list of products. I'll be at the shop for hours after my last class, while you'll be in our flat by three o'clock, all alone in our king-sized bed." Gazing down at her, he gently cupped her cheek. "Besides...have I truly given you cause for complaint?"_

_When he smirked and raised an eyebrow, she giggled. "Of course not," she whispered, giving him a sultry smile of her own. Her hands started to caress the muscles of his chest, slowly descending. Once her fingertips had passed his hips, he repositioned himself so that he was hovering over her. "But just in case..." She adeptly rolled them over so that she was kneeling on the desk while he lay between her legs. "Maybe we should make doubly sure there's..." she squatted down and rubbed against him, "...no remaining tension left."_

_His hands rose from her hips to her shoulders. "As milady wishes," he agreed, promising more undeniable seduction as his lips and fingers began to explore her again._

_And in the haze that comes with such mounting desire, Emma thought of two more items that she could add to the very secret list hidden in her sock drawer._

* * *

Emma never felt so empowered in her entire life. Or so foolish. And breathless. And, well...starstruck.

The moment the chorus of "You Give Love a Bad Name" came through the sound system, she had wanted to jump offstage, scared out of her wits. But Graham had anchored her to the center spotlight, crooning the title line before the introductory riff played. He was brave ― she'd give him that.

"You don't have to do this, Emma," he whispered, spinning her around while they swayed to the instrumental music. "But I thought that you wanted to." Then he gave her a "Dirty Dancing" moment when he drew her into a classic dance position from said movie and rolled their hips, which earned them some catcalls and whoops. _What the heck?_ Staring into her eyes, he firmly instructed, "This is _your_ moment. _Take it_."

Suddenly, the stage fright that was pinning her legs to the ground and locking her voice in her throat vanished. Adrenaline, the symptom of quick courage, launched her senses in a heightened drive of determination, and she started to follow Graham's lead, listening hard to the rhythm of the song and trying to keep in sync with it. Through it all, their eyes were locked on each other's every move, and it gave Emma the confidence to continue, knowing that she wasn't alone in this.

When she took full control of the microphone, belting out the lyrics passionately, people in the crowd started cheering. _Inside, her heart soared._ She and Graham interchanged lines, making the song a duet, and when the charming deputy started to credibly flirt with her meanwhile, the club went wild. Her partner in crime was the very image of charisma, singing like a pro as they swung and glided across the sleek floor, dancing all the way while they collaborated. The moment he moaned the guy-oriented stanza, making a show of taking her hand and running her fingernails down his chest, a damn sexy smile on his lips as he taunted her from under his eyelashes, she nearly screamed along with every other woman present. Everything about him was impeccable.

Together, they made a good team, interacting as if they'd known each other for years. At the very end of their joint performance, Graham encouraged their audience to join in, clapping their hands to the beat while the chorus reigned supreme in the finale. The massive round of applause they received afterwards nearly made her deaf.

Despite her misgivings, her new friend had made good on his promise. The resulting feeling, this sense of power and control and self-worth, was brilliant and spectacular. So it was without fear of judgment that she smiled widely, bowing before the crowd.

Almost everyone was giving them a standing ovation, women jumping and waving madly at Graham while some men winked at Emma and yelled out wishful obscenities.

But it was his warm hand clasping hers that brought her back down to earth, reeling her in. "You were absolutely splendid, Emma ― thank you," he whispered in her ear, his brogue rougher and thicker. It was a wonder she was able to hear him over all the noise.

Looking at him, she saw a kind man who had made mistakes. Like she had. A man who was the _unknown_, when he could be the _known_. He had done her a favor, and she would never forget it. "It's I who should be doing the thanking," she corrected, loving the shy grin that crossed his lips. "I don't know how to repay you for―"

One eyebrow raised, he shook his head. "I had a good time, and that song is pretty great." When his lips brushed her cheek, she shivered, wondering what he was up to. "But there is..." One hand cupped that very same cheek. "...one thing I'd like. As a token of appreciation."

"Name it."

Her eyes slowly opened after she heard no reply. Graham was gazing at her strangely― _No_. That wasn't it. He was―

At first she was taken by surprise when he kissed her, steadily and sweetly and _God, so gently_. The way he stroked her skin with his fingertips, as if reading it through touch alone, made her breathless. Tentatively, she tasted his lips in return, a small moan slipping out of her mouth when he acted on her response and deepened the kiss.

It was all she ever wanted.

_A second chance._

In accordance, the world around them melted away. Emma could feel his heartbeat, just as he was no doubt feeling hers. Both were trembling in unspoken agreement, and her fingers curled into his soft hair as he lengthened their connection, tenderly holding her face in the palm of his hands. There was no else there but him and her.

She didn't remember how the kiss had ended, or how the crowd had reacted, or how Graham had guided her down the steps leading to the main floor. All she knew was how he was preceding her now so she could pass through, parting the multitude of bodies shaking in time to the beat of Michael Jackson, glancing back at her every once in a while with a hopeful smile. She saw only him, not them.

Meanwhile, her mind was lauding her, saying, _He's handsome, understanding, romantic, and ready to take chances. Don't let this man get away that easily. He's not Neal ― and he's not Killian..._

"Are you ready to go, Emma?"

Her thoughts snapped back to the present time and place. "Yeah." Blinking, she shook herself out of the daze she'd fallen into. On observing his concern at her silence, she tried to grin. _Get over yourself, Emma._ "Yes, I'm ready ― let's leave this place."

Before they could make their way to the exit, the outlines of two persons walking toward them caught the corner of her eye. And before she could outrun both, the first had stepped right in front of her and Graham.

Blonde companion still on his arm, Killian Jones smirked dangerously at them, his debonair suit and aura charged high enough to strike like lightning. But Emma recognized his clenched jaw and tight smile, how he was glaring at Graham with such badly concealed loathing. If he was going to make a scene...

"Why, Emma Swan..." he began, ignoring the frantic looks his date gave him, his tone already smooth and dark and compelling, "fancy meeting you here." His blue gaze simmered. "Did you miss me?"

* * *

_It amazed her that with time, their love only grew stronger, not weaker. That their appreciation for each other only became deeper, not shallow. That the more they learned about each other, the more they wanted to be with each other._

_Sighing wistfully, Emma double-checked everything for the umpteenth time. __This had to be perfect. Because he was perfect for her. When she heard the lock turn in the door, she squealed and ran to her hiding place, careful not to trip over the loose ties of her robe. Then she pressed "play" on the CD player, savoring the deep, mellow tones of Barry White as he praised his "pretty sexy lady" and asked her to dance the night away._

_To all appearances, the apartment was empty. Looking weary and sad, Killian called out her name, but on hearing no answer, she saw his shoulders drop and immediately felt very guilty for not rushing out to comfort him. He couldn't possible think she would leave on this special day, did he?_

_Then...his face literally brightened when he saw the small sailboat on the counter, in whose rigging was ensnared a short scroll. She had to forcibly contain her excitement when he opened the seal quickly and read through the contents, his growing smile making her blush._

_Rose petals were kind of cliché, but she knew that at worst, he'd just laugh and enjoy the gesture anyway. As he stepped along the path she had strewn along the carpet, Emma readied herself for him, tiptoeing slowly until she was within the confines of their bedroom._

_When Killian saw her, back pressed against the base of their bed, he was smiling the way he only did around her. As if she were the only thing he saw. As if she were the only thing he wanted to see._

"_Well, what have we here?" The soft gray sweater he wore creased when he crossed his arms over his chest, a devilish smirk now on his lips. Her eyes traveled over his trim form, from fitting jeans and heavy brown work boots up to the collar of a light blue shirt. _

_Suddenly, Emma worried that she had messed everything up, that he was expecting more when she had given less. After all, what could she offer a man like him? With his looks, his wit, his charm, and his intelligence, he could have anything he wanted._

_Chewing her bottom lip nervously, she stared at the creamy-colored carpet beneath her bare feet, outlining her toes. "I ― I wanted to wish you ― I wanted to give you ― but I'm not good at ― at these kinds of things." Her words came out as rasps. "I'm no good at being romantic ― I always ruin―" _

"_Nonsense." In less than a second, he had pulled her into his arms, his fingers digging into the soft lining of her robe. "You know I have no need for gifts like that, Emma. I don't want them." His lips trailed down the side of her face, pausing before her mouth. "I want you...my perfect woman."_

_Before she could apologize for even dreaming of coming up with such a stupid idea in the first place, his kiss wiped away all those thoughts. In her mind, there was just him. Him and her. Them._

_When she finally could breathe again, his smile was gentle and understanding, fingertips brushing her tears. "But I'm not perfect, Killian," she said brokenly, sniffling. "I don't deserve―"_

"_No, you deserve it all," he firmly insisted, wrapping his arms around her. "I may not have a list for perfection, my darling, but if anyone were to be my ideal, it would be you. It will always be you." Slowly, his hands fumbled with the sides of her robe, pushing it aside until it fell off her shoulders and collapsed in a heap on the floor, exposing her bare skin to air. "Look at you...my very own goddess," he whispered, fingers tracing her curves._

_She turned her face away. "I'm sorry my gift was so dumb."_

_He tsked. "It wasn't." His lips met her forehead. "It's wonderful...and bloody incredible."_

"_What is?"_

_Killian grinned down at her, practically exuding happiness. When she tugged at his sweater, pouting, his smile widened, and he began to help her undress him. "That you love me...that you love all the things about me ― even the smallest things." His eyes, so bright, dimmed. "Only my brother's ever loved me like that."_

_Her limbs immediately stilled, her fingertips pausing to unbutton his shirt. "Liam's alive." She cupped his cheek with one hand. "Don't listen to what they told you ― listen to yourself. If you feel like you haven't lost him yet, he's out there, somewhere...fighting his way back to you."_

"_I wish he could have seen this," he murmured, kicking off his shoes. "Our life here...you...how fulfilled you've helped me to become..." Softly, he rubbed noses with her. "My brother is a stubborn arse, but I know he would love you the moment he meets you."_

_When his chest was finally exposed to her, Emma kissed down every part of the impressive expanse, sure to make every mouthful thoroughly wet and marked with her desire for him. "More than...you love me?" she purred, undoing the buckle of his belt and flinging the item to the floor. He then kicked off his pants, left clad in rather revealing white boxers. "Maybe I've fallen for the wrong Jones brother, hmm?"_

_Squeezing her behind possessively, he growled at her, "And here I thought the list was about me?"_

"_It is." One hand snaked downward. "But certain items need to be demonstrated...proven..."_

_He nearly tossed her onto the bed, towering above her, his stare roving over her face first and her body last, the pendants she had gotten him for their last anniversary swinging back and forth from his neck and trailing between her breasts. "Proven?" he emphasized, an unspoken challenge in his voice._

"_Aye," Emma smirked, pulling him closer to her while running her hands down his back appreciatively. "Like number seventy-four, for example."_

_Groaning, he held on tighter to her hips. "Remind me to frame that list of yours later, princess."_

_In response, she slid one leg along his right side, curling it around his waist. "Happy third anniversary, Killian." Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear, "By the way...I still expect to receive my present later."_

"_Indeed." He chuckled. "Oh, you won't believe what surprises I have in store for you, my lovely Swan...just you wait and see..."_

* * *

Killian hadn't felt this angry in years. True, for a long time, he had been bloody furious with himself, with the world, with every set of fucking circumstances that had torn him away from his love ― but now...

Now, this bloody git in front of him was the final straw.

Graham ― or whatever the hell his name was ― was standing so close to Emma that he was nearly draped around her like some curtain. And as for..._her_... Her face was impassive, cleared of emotion, and stiff as stone as she stared back at him, no doubt scrutinizing Tink out of the corner of her eye. When she fidgeted slightly, he couldn't help but smile a little in triumph. Obviously, his ex-girlfriend was more affected by him than she cared to show.

Seeing her performance on stage... How she had danced and sung, a breath of fresh air among all this mundane insanity... It had brought back so many memories, so many feelings. In a way, it was worse than when he had barged into her office, on a mission for business but also hoping to somehow make amends and reconcile with her, to regain her trust. Worse than recognizing her in the crowd of Neal's guests, realizing that what he had been looking for had been right within his reach all along.

_Hoping, against all common sense, that she still loved him more than she despised him._

Therefore, the instant she had descended from the spotlight, gorgeous and triumphant, it had been imperative that he catch her before she took off and left him aching for her all over again.

Rolling back his shoulders, Killian prepared to charm his lady out of the arms of that _buffoon_ she had just bleeding _kissed_ in front of the entire room. What could only be jealousy pumped through his veins as he continued, "How remiss of me ― this is Miss Bell Green. She is a bloody marvelous artist by trade, and she just recently became the first female curator of one of the leading museums in Europe. Bell, love, this is Emma Swan and her..._friend_." Wanting to add insult to injury, desperate to coax a real reaction out of Emma, he stooped low and kissed Tink's hands with mock reverence, stoking the flames by brushing his lips over her fingers more than once.

Blonde curls tossing back and forth, the girl blushed at his compliments and waved him off. _Pretty she was, but Emma she was not. _ "Killian, stop it." She grinned at Emma, oblivious to the way the latter was watching the whole ordeal with disinterest. He waited for Emma's green gaze to brighten, to glower, to burn him, but it didn't. It was instead a blank look, of one who was merely tolerating someone. She simply didn't care. "I started out with ceramics in grad school, then transitioned into sculpture, then got signed up for a metal-making workshop by accident. It's how I got my nickname ― Tinker ― when I started selling my works on a professional basis." She shrugged at the recollection. "However, even after all these years, people still call me Tink ― the name has just damn stuck."

Emma nudged Graham with her elbow. The man outstretched his hand, looking more than a little uncomfortable. As for Emma...Killian's attempt to get under her skin seemed to be working _very_ well. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Bell ― and you as well, Jones. I've heard...much about you." He swallowed hard, eyes flickering between Killian and the exit, just out of reach to the left of him. "But if you'll excuse us, we do need to be going. I made a life-or-death promise to get her home safely."

What he did next made Killian blanch, and he had to grit his teeth together to stop himself from saying something foul or punching the arse. Taking Emma's hand in his, Graham slid it into the crook of his arm, cradling it, before pressing his lips to her cheek. _She's not your lass to protect, you bloody fool. She was always meant to be mine...to be with me..._

But, Killian reminded himself, he _had_ left her. He had abandoned her like a bloody traitor would, sneaking away without a word. _Not because he wanted to, though_ _― she couldn't honestly think that he did all that because he hadn't wanted to marry her? Damn it, Liam. Why the hell did you have to be so goddamned trusting?_

Well, a gentleman couldn't go around hitting people because he didn't get his way. _What bad form_, his younger self would say. He scoffed at himself, at his idiocy, at all his mistakes and how the bloody planet had stabbed him in the back and gave him gaping holes of misery in place of happiness... No, this situation required delicacy...required―

_No, please don't leave, darling_, his heart begged as he saw Emma propel that Graham bloke forward, tugging at his sleeve, clearly wanting to be gone as soon as possible, away from this awkward encounter. Away from him. _No, he just needs to speak with her ― explain to her ― love her ― God, Emma― _

"Wait..." He fumbled through the back pocket of his pants for his wallet, flipping it open and pulling out one of his business cards, which also listed his private line. If she shredded it into pieces when he was out of sight, that would be... Well, it wouldn't be okay, but as long as he knew he had tried something ― _anything_.

He wanted to drag that moon down from the sky and write out his soul on it and give it to her. He wanted to be her prince, be her savior, be her fairy tale ending ― to erase the past and go back in time to the day their future as a family would have started. He wanted to embrace her right now and tell her how much he bloody _loved_ her, how much more he had bloody _missed_ her, his best friend and lover and almost-_wife_. They were supposed to spend their lives together, to share it all ― the breakage, the bondage, the joys, the sorrows, the stories. She wasn't supposed to be alone for all these years without him. And he wasn't supposed to be without her, badly wanting her every day in his bed and his home and by his heart, even though he couldn't have her.

If only she would give him one more chance to tell her why...how... To tell her his regrets and his reasons.

To pour it all out on the floor, though he certainly couldn't mop up the mess he had already made by just saying he was sorry. He would slay dragons and fight villains and do whatever she asked to prove himself to her. To win her heart again, not by any trickery, but because she wanted him back.

He could be the worst sinner on earth, but bloody hell, he had never lied to her.

Finding her meant not losing her a second time.

When he felt her skin brush his fingertips, he nearly gaped in amazement when she actually took the card from him, sighing when he tried to hold onto her hand and missed. He didn't hear the couple mumble more excuses before saying good-bye, didn't hear Tink tell them both that it was lovely to make their acquaintance ― and he didn't hear how his colleague protested when he ignored her and followed them out as rapidly as his legs would carry him, needing to keep Emma in his vision for a moment more.

Forcefully shoving his hands into his pockets, Killian locked his knees and leaned back against the metal door, never letting go of the image in front of him.

His Emma, walking away from him, the street lights illuminating her like a fading candle amid the dark night. With another man. Not with him.

This time, it was _she_ who was leaving _him_ behind.

And what hurt the fucking most was...that he bloody deserved _all_ of it. He had earned her hate, her rebuke, and her unwillingness to even listen to his apologies.

He had made her suffer, when he had only wanted to save her further pain.

But in spite of his personal guilt, reckoning, and remorse...

None of that had stopped him from still praying and asking and pleading for her forgiveness since he'd abandoned her.

Because when you wanted something, you had to _fight_ for it. Otherwise, you would get what you deserved.

_Nothing._

_Nothing but shadows._

* * *

**A/N: There's only one more part after this, plus an epilogue.**

**Reviews would be heavenly...**


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